


She Who Strengthens Me

by Thisistheend



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ava is getting the hang of the whole Halo Bearer thing, Avatrice, Battle Couple, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Fight Scene, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Sacrifice, Self-Worth Issues, Touch-Starved, Yeah the writer is Going Thru It can you tell, lots of cussing in this one woops, the girls are CRYINNNNNNNNG, the girls are fightinnnnnnng
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thisistheend/pseuds/Thisistheend
Summary: Beatrice and Ava have both spent most of their lives alone. Their supernatural-plagued lifestyle will take some getting used to, as well as their new lives together.(Or, Ava tries to fistfight a Tarask and Beatrice isn't a fan of it.)
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 25
Kudos: 183





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Sunlight** and **Like Real People Do** by Hozier

Ava flops into the pews, pressing her back against the hard wood. It’s probably sacrilegious, but she doubts that anyone cares. The cathedral’s relative silence is the sermon she needs. She finds God’s message through the soreness in her muscles; the pain is a gentle reminder that she can feel again. Soft line shines through the painted glass, igniting the girls below. Lilith and Beatrice ponder over maps strewn across the floor. Beatrice squats low, pressing her palms against the pages. Angels observe her from the ceiling, and various saints press close to listen in. Ava watches her quietly. She can’t make out Beatrice’s words, but it’s comforting to watch her work. 

Lilith’s voice pipes up, and the higher notes echo through the cathedral. It mixes with Beatrice’s strong accent, amplified by the church’s acoustics. Despite the quiet, this old place is vibrant and alive, certainly more so than the church services at Saint Michael’s.  
“—couldn’t get there that fast.” Beatrice says. At least, that’s what Ava picks up. Beatrice doesn’t notice the light that bathes her back—perhaps it’s because she’s so used to an environment like this. 

Camila reads from the journal only a few rows ahead of Ava. It’s the first time the youngest nun has been here—this is the same cathedral that Ava and Mary crashed together only a few weeks prior. Based on the slow tap of her boots that pace the walkways, Mary seems as comfortable here as she did before. Camila, however, takes a moment to observe the glow of the stained-glass windows. Her gaze traces the paintings within; Ava imagines that Camila can recall the stories of all those nameless saints. 

When Camila sighs, Ava sighs with her. The Halo Bearer relishes the way the sunlight tingles against her tired muscles. When Ava glances at Camila again, she realizes that she is being watched. Camila gives that soft smile of hers, a certain reassurance that Ava never thought would come so easily. Ava smiles back, then averts her eyes. She drops back onto the wood, turning to her side to nestle herself in.

That’s when Ava sees the blip of dark. The Halo Bearer curls closer to the pew’s edge, squinting through the gap between the seat and the backrest. Sunlight floods through the doorway, but something transparent blocks the light. It pulsates, then begins to implode on itself. The room falls dark as the shape stretches and grows, and Beatrice’s voice falls apart. 

A terrible red ignites in the portal’s center. It festers, blistering and flickering like fire, but Ava feels no heat from it. Only the Halo can do that. The metal in her back starts to hum, low and deep; it’s a bit late for a warning. Ava pushes herself up to her knees, holding a white-knuckled grip on the headrest.

“Guys—” 

Mary’s boots halt at the sound of Ava’s voice. Camila rises from her seat, and Ava could swear that she’s whispering a final prayer. The youngest nun’s face is contorted; it makes Ava’s throat close up. That twisted pain never belonged on her friend’s face, no matter the circumstances. 

Camila watches in horror as the Tarask materializes before her. 

Ava always knew this was coming. Even with the sisters’ guidance, she’s still up against the best bloodhound that Hell has to offer. Despite this, the disbelief settles in her soul like a deadweight. 

She thought she had more time. 

She and Camila are trapped in the pews together, overshadowed by the beast. Its bitter-cold aura siphons the breath out of Ava’s lungs. Camila just stares, mouth agape. She’s weaponless, save her curled fists. Only the roaring light in her eyes can defend her, a declaration to every second of life that she claims.

Ava starts to scream Camila’s name but gets cut short. A blast rings out, and the Tarask moves back. It’s blazing eyes center on Mary, who stands in the walkway. Her shotguns glint in the light of the stained-glass windows, and she stares the Tarask down through gritted teeth.

“Ava, get the sword!” she yells. There’s another blast, and Mary advances on the Tarask. “C’mon, MOVE!”

Lilith appears at Camila’s side at record speed, crossbow in hand. She tosses it to her sister before vaulting over the pews. The sly grin on Lilith’s face nearly masks the fear in her eyes. The Tarask swipes at her abdomen; perhaps it remembers where it hit her last. Lilith dodges swiftly, raking her claws against the Tarask’s side. 

Right. Round two was bound to happen. It might as well happen now.

Ava bolts past the fight, protected by Mary’s flank. The divinium sword rests beside a decorated column in the corner. The Tarask rushes Mary, and she sidesteps it in a narrow miss. Ava curses to herself, pressing against the furthest wall. The divinium sword glows a dazzling blue only a few feet away, but the metal beast acts as a blockade between them. 

Ava holds her breath. Her limbs mold into the stone, too stiff to move. Ava is absorbed into the Tarask’s visage—she can only remember the way Lilith’s frail body rose like a crucifix under its claw. Now, Lilith is unbound. She spins about the Tarask’s torso, slicing through its metal armor with claws of her own. She cries out to the beast, encouraging it to aim shots at her. Sure enough, it does, but Lilith stays a few steps ahead. Every slice of the Tarask makes Ava’s heart still. She’s trapped, tensing for the moment a stray claw pierces Lilith’s chest, or a slight misstep sends her back to Hell for good.

But the moment doesn’t come. Lilith goads the Tarask away from Ava, luring it into the pews. Its hooved feet crush the seats, sending splintered wood flying in every direction. It steps just into Mary and Camila’s range. They unload their ammo, and the sound of scraping metal rings through the cathedral. 

Ava starts to creep towards the sword, then halts. She’s locked on one knee, her fingers clasped around the cruciform hilt. The Tarask reels back, subsequently edging closer to her. But the demon is not what makes Ava pause.

Beatrice runs into the fray, flanking the Tarask alongside Camila. She’s a blur at first, skidding through the wooden rubble. She gets up close, too close—of course, that’s what her fighting style requires. She whips out her staff, then manages to wedge herself under the Tarask’s arm. She does a quick low sweep of its hoof in tandem with Lilith’s attack on the other side. The Tarask gets caught off balance. It’s like watching Godzilla collapse into the sea—it all happens in a split second, but the weight of the moment is enough to slow time. The Tarask’s takes a final swipe, hooking its claws onto Beatrice’s habit. 

Her boots lift off the floor. The Tarask starts to stumble back, but he holds Beatrice up high. A thin piece of cloth keeps her aloft, only inches from the Tarask’s haunting gaze. 

Ava screams. 

A series of shotgun blasts roar through the cathedral. Luckily, Mary knows how to make her body move in moments like this. The Tarask reels back, and Beatrice slips out of its grasp. Both of them fall, the girl before the beast. 

Beatrice lands flat on her back. Her staff flies out of her hand and clatters onto the floor. She cries out in pain as the Tarask crashes on top of her. The nun is quick to tug her arm out from under the Tarask’s shoulder—it takes a few painful groans, but she manages to wriggle free. Beatrice picks up her staff, shaking off her near-death to stay focused. Her movements are smooth, her balance careful. She flits around the Tarask as it rises, flinching at every sudden jerk its body makes. She doesn’t take her eyes off the demon, and just doesn’t dare feign from it. Her stance is stable, her form impeccable. 

But she’s still fighting a demon with a fucking stick. Ava notices the way her crushed arm trembles. It’s all that Ava can focus on. Beatrice’s fingers struggle with the staff’s weight, but she grasps it with hot-white knuckles. Her sisters stand beside her. They look invincible, weapons at the ready, anticipating the next move.

Ava knows better. As skilled as she is, Beatrice won’t last long against the spawn of literal Hell. None of them will. But they’ll push it as far as they can, in this life or next. And for what, a holy mission that’s crumbling before their eyes? For some far-fetched dream to end their suffering? Or the worst option of all; are they doing this for her?

And here Ava is, cowering in the corner. She reaches for the sword, hooking the strap of the sheathe with a finger. She pulls the blade into a soft embrace, guarding it close to her chest. The cruciform handle protects her from the beast on the ground.  
She can’t watch this happen again. Her lungs burn and contract in anticipation. Ava shuts her eyes, but the insides of her eyelids glow a violent tint of blue.

No. She has to look. She brought this on herself. Ava’s not sure how—maybe she didn’t train hard enough, or listen to something she was supposed to hear. But Ava led the Tarask here, and she can’t break through that heavy weight that holds her down. And despite the fact that she cowers on her knees, her sisters still stand up for her. 

Her eyelids flutter open again.

Ava’s world stops when she pinpoints the uncertainty in Beatrice’s expression. Beatrice knows that this is futile, too; she must know. The nun waves her staff in the air, desperate to attract the Tarask’s attention. Mary yells something intangible. Her voice cracks with the rising smoke of her firearms.

Beatrice looks Ava straight in the eye. A lifetime of emotions hit Ava in an instant—fear mixed with desperation and a thousand words left unsaid. Ava’s throat closes up, but her heart roars. She tries to speak, but nothing comes out. There is no judgment in Beatrice’s gaze, no disappointment. Just a flickering light and a certain hunger to stay right where she is. 

_It wouldn’t matter if you were quadriplegic, festooned with boils, or a talking head in a bag. You would still have us. And we will never leave you._

Beatrice gives Ava a soft smile, her lips wet with tears.

Then, the Tarask rises, blocking Ava’s view of her. Ava realizes that it might be the last time that she sees her. 

That’s it, then. That’s the end of the story.

_And we will never leave you._

Ava’s heart stutters. Something clicks, and her limbs shudder. The Halo ignites the cathedral with a blinding light; it amplifies the overflowing warmth in Ava’s chest. That warmth turns into a blistering heat in her back. 

The Tarask advances on the others, its jaws extending wide. It’s unbothered by Ava’s unbridled fear, indifferent to her failing body. Her failure isn’t the point. Nor is their holy mission, or any supposedly divine guidance bestowed upon them.

By the grace of God, this has nothing to do with her. It has everything to do with them, her sisters, and for once in her life, she has the power to do something right. 

That alone wipes the fear away, replaced by an eruption of fury. Its white-hot fumes release with her every exhale; its blistering heat only magnifies the Halo’s holy glow. Ava has a tight grip on the sword, and she realizes that the blade has been cutting into her fingertips. She slides her fingers up the blade, resting both of them on the cruciform hilt.

Ava knows what she has to do. It’s not enough to pick up the sword, unsheathe the divinium blade. She does so, but it’s not nearly enough. Adrenaline brings her to her feet, springing her out into the archway of the cathedral. Her heart hammers in her chest. The Halo hums louder, and she grits her teeth at a fresh wave of heat. 

Ava has a second life, a full life. But it isn’t hers. It belongs to Mary’s teasing compliments and Lilith’s hidden smiles. It belongs to Camila when she sings to herself and doesn’t think that Ava can hear. It belongs to Beatrice’s contained laughter when Ava delivers a bad pun. It belongs to them all when Ava cracks a joke, masters a new skill, or delights in a new experience. 

It belongs to Beatrice when Ava helps her smile through her tears.

Ava’s life is not about her because she is loved. She’s so loved. And God or no God, cruel fate or otherwise, she can never leave them while she still has a choice. Not in this life or the next.

“Hey, fuckface!” Ava roars. Her voice drips with a righteous rage that she’s never heard before. The Halo’s light rips through the room, and the floor shifts. Cracks crawl up the columns and taint the marble angels. 

The room falls silent. Ava stands in her battle stance, glowing sword at the ready. The eyes of the saints are upon her, but she’s beyond reasoning with them now. The Tarask turns to face her, disregarding the other sisters entirely. Its burning eyes ask only one question, and its gaze falls on the radiant disk in her back.

Fuck. It worked. 

Fuck.

“C’mon, big guy,” Ava says. Her voice wavers. “You want this?”

Her thumb points to the burning light between her shoulder blades. Roaring adrenaline eases the soreness in her limbs. She feels every slight shift in the air and every vein pounding to the beat of her pulse. Ava has never been this close to her own body before. There’s a newfound lightness in her chest; she feels like she could cry. It must be a side effect of the adrenaline, she decides. It can’t be the way that Camila’s crossbow slowly lowers, or the quiet plea that escapes Mary’s lips. Most of all, it can’t be the look of sheer horror on Beatrice’s face.

The Tarask steps forward. Metal clangs against old stone, and Ava’s heart stops. She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to lay her eyes on the demon. Its gaze is lifeless, but a ghostly mist fills in the spaces. Its mandibles open wide, revealing the chilling red glow underneath.

No. No tears now. She has to return the favor she’s been given. Ava sheathes the sword, letting it rest on her back. 

Then, Ava does what she does best. She runs like hell.

Splintered wood flies through the cathedral as the Tarask gives chase. The sunlight blinds Ava as they race into the streets. The townspeople part the way without question; their faces are nothing but blurs. There’s only one thing on Ava’s mind: the way to that ancient Tartarian bridge. She remembers the roads well enough from her last visit here. She sprints hard; her legs scream in protest but refuse to stop. The divinium sword clangs against her back—she’s a brilliant beacon of the blue mixed with a holy white. She looks back to challenge the Tarask on occasion, and to make sure the sisters aren’t following her. There aren’t any nuns in sight, thank God, but the Tarask gains on her with supernatural speed. Metal clangs only a few yards behind, and the distant rumble in the beast’s throat is deep enough to make the road shake beneath her feet. 

The canyon comes into view quickly. The bridge that connects both edges would be breathtaking if Ava wasn’t running for her life. Sheer cliff drops into a cradled forest, colored a lush green from recent rain. Ava rushes towards it, veering to one side of the bridge. One glance over the edge sends her heart plummeting, but the thought of the Tarask’s deadly claws keep her moving forward.

Ava glances back. The Tarask is mere feet away; it’s gaining on her too fast. Whatever Ava has planned, she has to do it now. Her chest clenches up. The Tarask lets out a low roar, a terrible sound. 

“COME ON!” Ava taunts the beast. The Halo burns with a new ferocity, overriding her need to stay afloat. She dives towards the bridge’s edge, looking down at hundreds of feet of laid brick. She halts, turning to face the demon. Her skin grows cold as it lunges for her, reaching toward the Halo in her back…

She dips underneath its arm, then fastens herself to it. Gripping the icy metal with both arms, she lets herself fall. The open air provides no cushion for her; the second her feet leave the railing, Ava’s stomach drops. Sure enough, the Tarask’s balance is too far forward to stay on solid ground. Ava uses her weight to bring the Tarask with her, sending them both hurtling down the canyon walls. 

The following seconds are agonizing. The wind cuts at Ava’s cheeks; her limbs scramble for a foothold that she never finds. The canyon falls into a blur of brown. Ava loses her grip on the Tarask—not that it matters now. The demon’s screams mix with her own, wailing all the way down. There’s no space to breathe, but so much time to think. She prays that the Halo will catch her again, that it will break this several-hundred-foot drop. She desperately wants to live.

The Tarask hits the ground first. There’s a metallic ring and a roar. Then, unimaginable pain rips through Ava’s back. It spreads like wildfire, through her arms and legs and up into her throat. The hard earth breaks the falling sensation in her stomach. Her lungs get knocked back, and there’s a sharp pain that makes her wheeze. Her broken fingers grip the solid ground.

The sword clatter nearby. Ava turns her head towards the sound, despite the ripping sensation in her neck. The sword lies between herself and the Tarask, who is nothing more than a heap of metal. The beast slowly starts to groan and shift, but it struggles to move.  
The Halo gets to work quickly, sending a tingling warmth through her arms. Ava tries to lift herself up, but her legs refuse to budge. She reaches for a fistful of soil, dragging herself through the grass. Her head throbs violently and the world sways. Her fingers mend themselves as she continues to crawl, and they soon find the cold steel of the cruciform hilt. The sword radiates a violent blue—it occurs to Ava that she could have been impaled by divinium on the way down, but she banishes the thought from her mind. That boiling rage remains in her chest, narrowing her vision to a singular point. 

The Tarask starts to rise again. It doesn’t have the same healing powers as the Halo, and that’s what Ava is betting on. She drags herself up to the metal beast, sword hilt in one hand. She reaches for its sharp claws to pull herself onto the Tarask’s chest. Her knees stay on the ground—she still doesn’t have enough energy to pull herself up. She takes a moment to gasp for air, slouched over the beast’s waking form. 

She doesn’t have much time—she needs the Halo to heal her, and fast. Red shines in the corner of her eye, and Ava makes direct eye contact with the Tarask. Her heart stops.

Nope. This needs to end. Now.

Ava takes the cruciform sword in both hands. She rises her broken arms high, wailing through the pain. Every part of her body sears with unimaginable fire.

Ava uses the last of her energy to plunge the sword deep into the Tarask’s chest. The demon lets out a jarring howl that splits through Ava’s skull. Its mandibles flex towards her, but she manages to stumble out of its grasp. That strange energy comes back, the imploding space that calls the Tarask back to Hell. The portal sputters and roars. It ignites with a blazing light, enveloping the Tarask’s form around the single line of blue. The portal shrinks, and Ava is left on her hands and knees, alone. Only the cruciform sword remains, skewered in the ground.

Ava takes a shaky breath. Her head feels light.

“Fuck this job.”

Ava crumples into the dirt.

* * *

Ava wakes to a steady ringing in her ears. She stretches her fingers, and by some miracle, they obey her. Ava wiggles her bare toes, and she sighs in relief. Her limbs are sore, but at least they’re functioning. Several blankets are piled up on top of her, just under her shoulders. There’s no pillow, but somebody has folded her jacket and nestled it under her head for support. Ava squints at the bright red tint under her eyelids; she tries to snuggle herself in to block out the blinding light.

A pair of footsteps walk into the room, and Ava freezes. She immediately lets her face go limp, like when she would pretend to sleep when Sister Frances entered her room. These footsteps don’t march straight to her bedside, though. They wait tentatively, prancing from side to side. Ava feels a certain gaze bear down on her. Then, the footsteps approach her bedside. There’s a pause, and Ava hears the other person’s soft breathing. The person in Ava’s room settles down, sitting on the floor beside her.

Soft hands brush against her back. Ava tries not to stir, but it’s hard not to curl into the touch. The hands pull heavy blankets up to Ava’s shoulders, then tuck them into her limp form. There’s a sigh above her; a woman’s voice. A pause. Then, a soft kiss presses onto Ava’s forehead. The warmth on her breath makes Ava’s heart flutter. The kiss pulls away, but the woman remains. She shuffles in her seat, but she watches over Ava’s mending body. She doesn’t make any motion to leave. 

Ava opens her eyes.

She’s in a cathedral again—a different one this time. The walls are strong, but the interior is falling apart. The pews are absent, and weeds grow through cracks in the ground. Vines crawl up the walls, invading through broken holes in stained-glass windows. Nobody has maintained this place in years, at least. But the sun shines through this space without fail. 

Ava lies on an old mattress. Sleeping bags and blankets are strewn across the empty floor; they left the most comfortable bed for her. The quiet is overwhelming after the events from before—Ava remembers the fall, the impact, the Tarask’s chilling roar as the sword pierced through it. Sure enough, the divinium blade rests beside the moss-covered statue of a saint. It’s a testament to her memories, that escape from near-death. As that pounding in her ears begins to fade, Ava thinks she can hear Camila humming far off somewhere. Other than that, the cathedral is silent. But she isn’t alone.

Beatrice sits before her, legs crossed. She hasn’t noticed Ava yet. She watches the ceiling, contemplating the broken glass. Ava wonders if she is praying, or what she is praying for. Beatrice sets her hands into her lap; her fingers spill over her legs. She wears the same habit, and one arm still trembles despite resting on her knee.

Ava doesn’t say anything. She takes Beatrice’s good hand, pulling her towards the blankets with interlocked fingers. The nun’s fingers are freezing.

“Hi, Bea,” Ava says. She gives her hand a tight squeeze. 

Beatrice falls still. She loses her grasp on Ava’s hand, but Ava still keeps their fingers locked. 

Beatrice pulls away. “What the fuck were you thinking?!” 

“Heh. Language,” Ava teases.

“This isn’t funny, Ava,” she says. Her trembling voice makes Ava sit up on her mattress. An unsettling weight fills her chest when she looks Beatrice in the eye. The other woman casts a harsh stare, but she seems at a loss for words. She stutters for a moment, looking to the broken windows for guidance. All Ava can do is stare back, her muscles tense against what Beatrice has to say next.

“You’re lucky that you made it out alive,” Beatrice finally says. “What if the Halo didn’t save you?”

“It’s not my first time falling off a cliff, you know—” Ava starts. 

“I know. But the Halo can’t protect you from everything. What if your plan didn’t work?” Beatrice’s voice rises. “What if the Tarask grabbed you like it did with Lilith?”

“Beatrice—” 

“We could have lost you. You can’t just run off like that without your sisters. We had to search the canyon bottom for you. It was—it was agonizing. Do you have any idea what it’s like to walk up to the half-dead corpse of someone—”

“Beatrice.”

A raw, guttural sound comes from Ava’s throat, and Beatrice goes quiet. Ava leans back; only then does she notice the wetness on her cheeks. Ava sniffles, then turns her face away. She can’t bear to see the sudden flood of concern in Beatrice’s eyes. She wipes away the tears from her swollen eyes, then pulls herself out of the covers. She sits cross-legged in front of the other girl, sitting slightly taller with the mattress’s help.

“I’m sorry,” Ava chokes out. “I didn’t… I didn’t think—” 

“Ava—” 

“The Tarask was going to kill you, and I froze like I always do, and… I’m so sick of not being able to help,” Ava says. She hates that she’s falling apart like this, she hates that she can’t hold it in. “I couldn’t let it take you.”

“Ava,” Beatrice says, her voice stern. Ava looks up from her self-made cocoon. She expects to see anger in Beatrice’s eyes, but instead, there’s a newfound softness to her gaze. Somehow, that makes Ava nestle deeper into her knees. Light spills across Beatrice’s face through stained glass, illuminating her features in an array of colors. 

“This isn’t your burden to bear alone,” she says. “Sacrificing yourself isn’t going to make anything better.” 

Ava nods. Her throat closes up—it reminds her of that feeling of freefall, the lack of space to breathe. She stops rubbing her eyes, and her hands drop into her lap. Maybe she can pull herself together if she has a moment with the ground. But she should be able to handle this unadulterated fear that rips through her chest and renders her speechless. She knows that Beatrice is right. Ava needs to listen, to learn. She needs to be better. But all she can do is stare at the floor.

Warm hands cup her jaw, tilting her chin up. Ava can see the angels from here, rotten and filled with weeds. Beatrice reaches up to cradle Ava’s face. She wipes away the tears with a stray thumb. They both lock eyes, and Ava realizes that she has stopped making those ugly, sobbing sounds. There’s a certain gleam in the nun’s eyes that quiets her, and Ava realizes that Beatrice’s face is wet with tears, too.

“You know I can’t afford to lose you, either,” Beatrice says. Her voice is soft again.

Ava takes one of Beatrice’s hands into her own. Her fingertips trace patterns on the back of Beatrice’s hand. Beatrice pauses, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Are you mad?” Ava asks. 

“No.”

“It’s okay if you are—” 

“I’m not,” Beatrice insists. She pulls back a little, but doesn’t let Ava go. “I-I’m sorry. I got scared.”

A smile tugs at Ava’s lips. “I thought you were too badass for that.”

Beatrice chuckles, and her deep voice reverberates through the cathedral. She lets go of Ava’s face, averting her gaze to conceal her radiant smile. Ava feels the slightest heat creep into her cheeks where Beatrice’s hand once lay.

“Not badass enough, I’m afraid,” Beatrice says. She wipes away her tears, glancing at the ceiling. “I thought you were gone, and… um…” 

Beatrice’s voice trails off. Tentatively, she reaches for Ava’s hand again. Their fingers interlock at the edge of the mattress. 

“You’re not replaceable anymore,” Beatrice says. She looks Ava in the eye, her gaze brimming with something that Ava can only describe as love. “You know that, right?” 

For a moment, Ava forgets how to breathe. Part of her shrinks back, away from Beatrice’s touch. Her fingers start to slide off the other woman’s palms, but she stops. 

No. She already hurt Beatrice once today. Ava needs to stay present, bear witness to the pain in her voice. Beatrice’s words sink in. She knows that she’s not replaceable, right? Ava whispers the phrase to herself in her mind. Replaceable. Ava chokes up again, but this time, she refuses to look at the floor. Her hands slide back into the nun’s waiting fingers. She stays with Beatrice, using the nun’s rising and sighing frame to figure out how to breathe. Her vision starts to cloud with new tears, but she doesn’t dare hide them.

Beatrice gives her the time she needs. She rubs her thumb against the back of Ava’s hand, humming softly. She never pushes Ava—she just sits with her and the broken glass. They watch the vines grow through the ceiling together, twisting and turning into a shapeless mosaic. At least, Ava does. She can wander where she pleases here, and Beatrice will stay with her. When Ava looks back, she catches the nun’s stray smile. 

How can Beatrice look at her like that?

“You might lose me anyway,” Ava says, breaking the silence. Her self-doubt drips out, staining her words. “You know what we’re up against. And I keep making mistakes—”

Beatrice sighs, cutting Ava off.

“We could prevent that with less of the self-sacrifice, for one. But I know that may not be enough.” Beatrice’s gaze falls to their hands. She looks to the angels for guidance before finding an interest in the floor. 

“I was fortunate enough to be with Shannon when she passed,” Beatrice says. Her voice goes quiet, and she struggles to speak her next words. “Ava, this may sound… strange. But I just—I need to be there if anything ever happens to you.”  
Beatrice lets out a shaky breath. Her hand starts to tremble in Ava’s, but the Halo Bearer doesn’t dare let her go. Beatrice averts her gaze, shaking her head.

“Today was my greatest fear,” Beatrice admits. “If something had happened to you, and you were alone when you were gone, or… or I didn’t have a final say in how it went… I couldn’t bear it.”

Beatrice looks Ava in the eye, and she freezes. Ava’s heart swells in a way she hasn’t felt before—or at least in a long, long time. Life brims from the nun’s face, highlighted by the religious imagery that surrounds them. She’s truly a gift from God, Ava thinks. She can’t suppress the giddy smile that strains her cheeks. Beatrice looks taken aback, lost in the features of Ava’s face. Stray hairs stick out of her wimple, framing the glow on her face.

God. She’s beautiful.

“I-I’m sorry….” 

“Don’t be,” Ava insists. She turns her hands over, giving Beatrice’s hands a tight squeeze. Ava’s heart drops again, but it’s a pleasant feeling this time. 

“Beatrice, I don’t know what to say…”

“Promise me something, then,” Beatrice says. She has an easier time looking Ava in the eye.

“What?”

“Trust yourself. You’re a part of the team, too.”

A lump forms in Ava’s throat. She swallows hard, but that weight doesn’t leave. It sinks into her chest, shrinking away from the angels that watch them. But when that feeling reaches her heart, it implodes. The Halo starts to hum ever so softly, quiet enough to ignore but loud enough for Beatrice to hear. The nun gives Ava a nervous smile.

Then, Ava’s emotions take over; it all happens in a blur. The Halo Bearer falls to her knees, pulling Beatrice into a tight hug. There’s a quiet murmur of surprise from Beatrice before her arms slowly encase Ava’s torso. Ava buries her face into the nun’s shoulder, letting the waves of feeling crash over her. It leaves her breathless, and Ava smiles into the crook of Beatrice’s neck. 

“Okay,” Ava speaks softly in her ear. “I’ll be brave next time.”

Beatrice pulls back, but keeps her hands resting on Ava’s waist. There’s a solemn look in her eye.

“I thought you were very brave today.”

Ava stutters before she finds her words. “I… I was scared. I think.”

Beatrice nods, resting her hands in her lap. “In my experience, the two go hand-in-hand.”

“Then how do I fix this?” Ava asks. Beatrice’s smile falters for but a moment, but it’s enough for Ava to pinpoint the heartbreak in her eyes. Ava starts to apologize, but Beatrice holds out a hand to stop her. Beatrice then motions to the mattress.

“Just get some rest. Have faith,” Beatrice says. She finds her smile again, giving Ava a teasing glance. “And don’t go running off again, please.”

“Okay,” Ava says. She squirms in her seat, working the nerves out of her system. Beatrice motions to the mattress again, and it finally clicks. Her sore muscles still cry out in protest, and her eyelids fight to stay open. Right—she only fell down a canyon a few hours ago. Ava flops onto the mattress, pulling up the blankets around her. She lies on her back, looking up at the mosaic on the ceiling. Ava traces the designs above her, hoping to find a pattern. There are a few leaks in the ceiling above her that drip steady water onto the floor below. 

Beatrice starts to rise, then stops. She shuffles over to Ava, settling down just above her head. Ava looks up. The nun’s face is upside-down, covering the blooming honeysuckle that clings to the cathedral walls. She dips down, quietly placing a kiss on Ava’s forehead. She rests there for a moment, likely taking in Ava’s presence as much as Ava takes in hers. The smell of frankincense and fresh paper fades as Beatrice rises to her feet. Then, her footsteps fade, back into the daylight where Ava thought she could hear Camila sing.

In the silence, tears begin to well in Ava’s eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Neptune** by Sleeping at Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me stew in Beatrice Sad Girl Hours okay? Okay.
> 
> Also, I'm realizing all of my Warrior Nun fics involve one of the sisters running off into the night to mope. No, we're not gonna psychologically analyze this trend. It's fiiiiiiiine

Beatrice wakes to the bitter cold clasping her arms. Her blankets only come up to her chest, leaving the rest of her shivering. She tugs at the covers, shifting to her side to nestle in deeper. Nerves work at her heart, jerking the arteries around her chest. Part of Beatrice questions if each breath will be her last, but she tries not to listen to herself. Instead, she stares at the ceiling. The cathedral is relatively dark, but an orange hue spills through its crevices. It illuminates the stone statues that guard over the sleeping sisters. The angels are lit on fire, framed by broken glass. 

The sun must be rising. Beatrice shuts her eyes, but that nervous wrench in her heart remains. It’s far too early to be up, but she knows that she won’t fall asleep. It’s one of those nights.

Beatrice rolls over to detract the angels’ attention. Ava’s calm face is there to meet her. She lies still on the mattress, limp with sleep. Beatrice holds her breath; she hopes she wasn’t noisy enough to make Ava stir. But the Halo Bearer doesn’t show any signs of waking. Her chest rises and falls at a predictable pace. Her eyelashes reflect the sunrise, and her skin is warmed by its radiance. She isn’t bothered by the night cold, or the steady drip from a leak near where the pulpit should be. Beatrice watches the steady dawn creep across her face. Songbirds chirp through cracks in the ceiling, as if trying to break into their hidden space. Beyond that, the cathedral is quiet. It gives Beatrice time to think, time to pull herself out of that pain in her chest. 

Beatrice’s gaze trails down to the floor. Ava’s arm spills from the blankets—her fingers rest on the floor. She reaches for Beatrice, stopping only a few inches short of the other woman’s coddled chest. 

Beatrice tenses up the same way she did when the Tarask found them. Her muscles override her heart, and her body traps her. Her instinct assesses the threat—a threat that’s motionless and half-smiling in her sleep. Ava must be having good dreams, but Beatrice is stuck in her self-inflicted paralysis. A voice in her head tells her to reach out, to warm Ava’s cold hand in hers. Her voice—she recognizes it. There isn’t much to overthink—it’s only a few inches of stone between them. But Beatrice’s hand stays tucked under the covers, hidden from the light. She doesn’t even work through the worst-case scenarios anymore; there’s only that overwhelming sense of dread that keeps her at bay. It’s a nightmare that Beatrice can’t shake off, no matter if Ava’s hand intentionally crept her way or otherwise. The worst consequence would only be waking her, and Beatrice can’t even manage the consequences of that.

The nun rolls out of the covers—she knows what she has to do. The night chill breaks through her nerves, and her skin feels like static. It wakes her enough to make her move quickly; she throws on her boots and folds her blankets back on the empty floor. She steps around Camila to reach for the lantern—Mary must have gotten it at a camp store on one of their escapades. Beatrice stumbles through the dark, drawn by the cathedral doors. They creak ever so slightly as she slips out; she doesn’t even look back once. 

It’s still too dark for Beatrice to make out anything, but the sounds and smells are enough to welcome her. The Andalusian wilderness overtakes the old road—pine needles crunch under her boots, and the breeze whistles through the conifers overhead. Beatrice fumbles with the lantern switch. A bright light sputters for a moment, then ignites a beacon that floods over the path ahead. Beatrice squints her eyes, and the jagged silhouettes of trees come into focus. The electric hum of the lantern fills the atmosphere, only broken by crickets and birds flitting across the branches overhead. 

The only direction for Beatrice is forward. She finds the stone steps after a moment of searching. White light bathes the moss, revealing the stone cutting underneath. Beatrice presses on—she scouted the trail earlier today, but she never followed the path to its end. Now is as good of a time to explore as any. Her fingers are pale against the glow of the lantern, but she holds it aloft. Forest critters dash into the grass, fleeing as soon as her light comes too close.

Beatrice needs to get away from Ava, get away from that sickening pit that swallows her heart. She knows that Ava isn’t the cause of this—it’s everyone, and everything, but her. That becomes more apparent as Beatrice climbs the steps, as Ava’s waiting hand slips further into the dark. This pain in her chest has been there for years—she can’t recall a time when it didn’t hold her back—and it stays with her now. Her lungs are full with crisp night air, but the lump in her throat doesn’t go away. Granite reflects the harsh lantern light, illuminating her path further. It’s a long climb up the mountainside, fraught with the occasional dip or stray root, but Beatrice keeps a steady pace. Her ears are first to fall numb to the cold, and her cheeks soon follow. But the pain in her chest remains. The dripping shame leaves her questioning everything, yet pushes her towards _something_.

he stops when the granite reaches the cliff’s edge. The bare dirt trails up some more, leading to a gazebo that overlooks the valley. The sky is lit a soft orange; it turns the Tartessian bridge into a stark silhouette. Streetlights twinkle from the distant hills, signaling the start of a new day. Beatrice can picture the townspeople crowding together, searching for the first shred of dawn. However, Beatrice’s gaze is locked on the canyon floor. She watches Ava fall, over and over, even though she wasn’t there to witness it. Imagining it becomes too much to bear, so her mind distracts her with infinite scenarios. Maybe things could have been different—she could have trained Ava harder, had her meditate longer, or even chosen a hideout that wasn’t so obvious in retrospect.

Beatrice enters the gazebo, and her fingers pass over the rough wood. Setting the lantern down beside her, she settles against the railing. Daybreak paints her world but can’t quite reach her yet. Details of the town become more prominent under its visage. Buildings cluster the tops of the hills, only held apart by that ancient bridge and the canyon beneath it. White paint is ablaze with the twisting colors of the sky, its fury only held back by tiled rooves. It’s absolutely stunning. 

Several minutes pass, though Beatrice hardly notices them. For once, she’s been graced by the diminished need to look over her shoulder. It’s comfortable here, away from the town, away from the cathedral. The gazebo’s wooden supports press close, buffeting the winds that come her way. Intricate designs trace the railing, carved by someone nameless. Beatrice can breathe freely here; the pain in her chest has the space to claw its way out, or nestle in deeper. 

As the sky bathes the valley in fire, the light graces Beatrice’s hands. It creeps up on her slowly, almost pleading to reach her. She pulls them from the railing, then crosses her arms over her chest to stave off the cold. 

Something tugs at the back of Beatrice’s mind. Shame trickles into her throat, thicker this time. Beatrice starts to notice shadows where she didn’t see them before—they spill from the canyon bottom and bleed into the valley in earnest. It clogs the thin veil of rivers, passing over trees and reaching across sun-lit pastures. 

Of course, the shadows have no problem infiltrating her little gazebo. They glance off the wood, darkening her space with ragged edges. Her shame usually brings a deluge of thoughts mixed with a few Hail Marys, but this time, it rises without a word. It’s a deafeningly silent killer; it doesn’t have to reason with her anymore. The dark steadily grows in the judgment of the new day. Eventually, shadows grace Beatrice’s shoulders and find a way around her throat.

So, Beatrice chokes on her shame. She leans against the gazebo for support; her heart lays heavy against the railing. The sun climbs higher as the discomfort in her chest settles deeper. Its radiance is her only comfort—that much hasn’t changed.

Beatrice has tried to escape the dawn more times than she can count. Beatrice has grown accustomed to finding refuge from it, yet she finds that its radiance is one of her only comforts. She’s found sanctuary in the dimly-lit candles in the Cat’s Cradle and amongst the gargoyles in foreign cathedrals. But this sanctuary is devoid of all the things that keep her heart in check—devoid of crucifixes, devoid of stained glass and painted ceilings, and most importantly, devoid of prayer. Several years of worship taught her that prayer won’t make that pain go away—it just delays it. So, for the first time, she doesn’t pray for the shame to cease. She tries to hear God’s word through the songbirds instead. The whispering wind should help her think, but for the first time in years, the quiet isn’t strong enough. 

Then, she finds her voice. A single thought rings out loud and clear; it pierces through the pain in her chest. The sun ignites the valley without question—it doesn’t waver against the weight of her words. The sunlight blinds her, and she grasps the railing as she goes spiraling down. 

She wishes that Ava were here. She wishes that this dilapidated gazebo wasn’t just hers.

Beatrice can’t help but think of this morning, of Ava’s hand resting on the stone floor. Waiting, but never finding the warmth she needed. And for what? Beatrice rises from the railing, and her arms shake under her own weight. The mourning doves call from above, but Beatrice can’t see them.

Ava is supposed to be selfish. Or she’s supposed to be focused on ending the cycle of death. Focused the mission that has nothing to do with Beatrice, or so the nun hopes—the latter option is far too terrifying. Either way, Ava is not supposed to be like this; she’s not supposed to focus on her. Beatrice can’t find an answer to the hidden smiles and the gentleness in her voice, or the way Ava always seems to keep her company when they’re both off-duty. Beatrice can’t explain the bad puns or the long conversations strung under starlight. She doesn’t know why Ava cares to sit in her space, or why she never turns a cold shoulder when Beatrice shows affection of her own. Most of all, Beatrice can’t comprehend why Ava’s hand lies bare against the stone. Ava doesn’t have to wait—she doesn’t have to get so cold. There’s instant relief under her own covers, but Ava doesn’t take it. She trusts that Beatrice will take her hand one day, but for now, she’s willing to contend with the oncoming frostbite.

Beatrice knows that Ava will have to leave someday. Maybe she’ll warm herself up with red-hot anger, or someone else will warm her hands instead. Maybe, worst of all, Ava’s blood will cease flowing, or thicken into brittle ice. These must be the only outcomes; the sickening grip on Beatrice’s heart tells her so. There’s no winning the waiting game.

But Ava waits anyway. She’s patient with Beatrice’s shame—she trusts that it will fade like the night. But even as Beatrice holds herself to the light, the shame remains. It doesn’t simmer and boil like it used to, but its remnants have left the stain on her soul. It mutes the colors of her sky; it makes her shrink away from the light that the townspeople flock to with unabashed joy. 

And why does it stay? For vows spoken on swayed lips? For the comfort of those who left her long ago? Beatrice can’t fathom a reason anymore. That’s why her shame does not speak. She broke herself a long time ago; she knows better than to have faith that anything will change. 

A twig snaps, and the morning doves fall silent. Beatrice tenses, whipping around to face her attacker. Her thoughts abandon her at the cost of shivering lips and swollen eyes. She pulls a knife from her boot, peering into the shadows of the conifers.

A lone silhouette steps out, a girl clad in robes. No—Beatrice would recognize that face anywhere. It’s Ava, shivering in the cold. Her hands are tinged blue, and they cling desperately to blankets draped over her shoulders. She wears her beanie, but she’s veiled under the shade of the trees. The Halo hums against her back—its sound crackles against the silent atmosphere. Beatrice’s shoulders relax; she can’t help but stare. The Halo bathes Ava in just enough light to combat the shadows cast upon her. Ava doesn’t seem bothered by the dawn—instead, she walks up the path, halting where the trail ends. Her boots teeter on the edge of wood and soil.

“Whoa—whoa, Bea, it’s just me,” Ava insists, hands held aloft. She then takes up her blankets again. “Can I come in?”

Beatrice lets her hand fall, but the knife’s handle remains in the space between her fingertips. Her heart sputters, mimicking the panic in her thoughts. 

“You should be in bed,” Beatrice says. “We have to head out in a few hours.”

“Again?” Ava asks. She slumps her shoulders, and the blankets brush the bare ground. “Shi—shoot. I wanted to try Mateo’s special.”

Beatrice stifles a laugh. “Maybe you’ll get your chance, one day.”

“I sure hope so.” The Halo Bearer leans into her heels, obviously trying to hide the way she shivers in the cold. The tips of her boots touch the gazebo’s edge, but she doesn’t dare invite herself in. As Ava pulls her blankets closer, Beatrice becomes aware of her own freezing limbs. She tugs at her sleeves to cover the palms of her hands.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” Beatrice asks. Ava shrugs her shoulders, then leans against the nearby post. 

“I dunno,” she admits. She motions to the landscape behind Beatrice. “I thought you might want to see the sunrise.”

Beatrice can’t help the soft smile that graces her lips. She nods, then motions for Ava to come in. Ava happily takes her invitation, though she stays on the opposite end of the gazebo.

“Someone’s a little jumpy,” Ava says. Her gaze falls on the knife under Beatrice’s fingertips. The nun turns the knife over in her hand—she didn’t even remember packing it with her. It must have been second nature to bring it.

“Oh, right,” Beatrice stammers. She quickly sheathes the knife into her boot. “I-I thought you were someone else.”

“Hey, it’s cool,” Ava says. “I mean, usually _you’re_ the one keeping _me_ from running off. Bet you weren’t expecting this sad intervention attempt, huh?”

A chuckle escapes Beatrice’s lips. She tries to avert her smile, but Ava recognizes it in an instant. Her eyes light up, casting a mesmerizing glow onto the space between them both. Beatrice’s thoughts clamor in her mind and invade her chest with a certain tightness; her doubt must be so obvious to the girl in front of her. But Ava welcomes that doubt with grace. It’s one of many new pathways for her, with a million facets to explore. But to Beatrice, her patterns have become as repetitive as the start of each new day. 

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice stutters. She can feel fresh tears brim in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to worry you—” 

“Hey,” Ava reassures her, eyes wide. Her smile starts to falter. “It’s okay—” 

Ava takes a step forward, then halts. Beatrice realizes that she’s fully pressed herself into the railing. Her body wavers toward the granite’s edge, down into the valley. The nun has to catch her breath, swallow that bellowing shame on her tongue. There’s nothing inherently forceful in the way Ava looks at her, but it still rips Beatrice apart in a way she can’t describe. There are stone walls put in place that Ava can’t see—at least not yet, anyway. Maybe Ava’s unbothered by them. Maybe her gaze is as unyielding as the sunrise—igniting all of Beatrice’s sins for Ava to see. All of her hesitations held by unreasonable needs. All of her failures. All of the ways she could fail, if she gave herself the chance.

Beatrice has to look away. She doesn’t realize how cold her cheeks had gotten until now. Her face is nearly numb, save the warm tears on her cheeks. Beatrice’s body works against her, turning her away from Ava to face the sunrise. The sky is now bathed a deep pink, brimming at the edges of reality. The floorboards creak as Ava shuffles behind her, but her movements eventually fall silent. Her gaze bears into Beatrice’s back, but the nun doesn’t dare look. 

“Do you want me to go?” Ava asks.

“No.” Beatrice’s answer is short and clear, if not shaken. The word falls off her tongue before she can trap it inside. She starts to stammer something, but then stops. She takes a deep breath in an attempt to soothe her trembling hands, but it’s useless. She just has to pry out that twist in her gut with her own words. 

“I just—” 

The shame fights back ever so slightly. The landscape eases her mind somewhat, but it doesn’t stop the stirring in her heart. But Ava is in her space now. She chose to be here, regardless of the reason why, and despite the fact that Beatrice can’t fathom it. Her fingers start to grow numb on the railing, her knuckles a stark white against the dark, rain-soaked grain. 

“I don’t think I’m—” Beatrice says. She chokes on her words; her voice hangs with the morning dew. “I’m not—you don’t have to be here. If you don’t want to be.”

Ava lets out deep sigh. It mixes with a flurry of birdsong overhead, almost as if it was meant to be there. There’s a pause, and boots shuffle towards Beatrice. The nun doesn’t shrink back this time. Instead, Beatrice taps her nails against the wood. Ava’s attention still claws into her back, but her intrusive thoughts seem to settle under her watchful gaze. Another pair of eyes are there, scanning the trees, watching the shadows. They’re more likely to spot danger while they’re together. With Ava here, Beatrice can find solace in the landscape. The morning dew glistens off patches of grass that invade the hard granite, adding a glint to the white glow.

Then, her world stops. Something warm presses into Beatrice’s back. Fingertips rest in the space between her shoulder blades; they spread out like wings to cradle Beatrice’s heart. She can’t feel the Halo from here, but Ava’s warmth melts her rigid posture all the same. Ava responds in full, pressing her forehead into the back of Beatrice’s skull. Ava’s nose just brushes the back of her exposed neck. A fresh bout of adrenaline rips through Beatrice, but it’s not the kind that she’s used to. Her heart does not plummet like in the first seconds of a fight, or when she finds herself face-to-face with a being of Hell. No, her heart starts ascends at Ava’s touch. It tingles with newfound hope, eagerly tearing through its bonds to find a home in the heavens. Sin doesn’t exist here; it couldn’t possibly confront her like this.

Ava starts to wander. Her fingertips curl into Beatrice’s back, caressing her softly before extending out again. She wants to curl into that touch, but she wouldn’t dare break away. She might not have the courage to face this warmth again; she fears losing it forever. Those gentle scratches send Beatrice back to another time, without a sense of place or being. There’s something primordial about it, something desperately familiar yet nameless. It’s something that Beatrice hasn’t felt in a long time. Regardless of what it means, Ava’s presence trickles in, and it’s enough to make Beatrice’s thoughts go silent. Ava sighs into her neck, then pauses.

“I wouldn’t have climbed all the way up here if I didn’t want to be here, Bea.”

Ava’s words get muffled into the folds of Beatrice’s sweater, but the nun hears her well enough. She starts to mimic Ava’s movement by tracing the wood grains on the railing, letting her nails slide against the rough surface. 

“I know. But I don’t get why,” Beatrice admits. She lets out a bout of nervous laughter; that gentle release allows her to sink deeper into Ava’s touch. “I can be a bit of a mess, if you haven’t noticed.”

“What if it’s the kind of mess I like?” Ava says. Beatrice can feel a smile bury into her neck, imprinted by soft lips. Her cheeks flush in an instant, and she continues to trace the wood to work through the newest jolt of nerves. 

“I’d say you’ve lost your mind.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Ava admits, lifting her head to speak. “But I did convince a demon to jump off a cliff, sooo… not ,em>that crazy in the grand scheme of things.”

“You’re never going to stop bragging about that, are you?”

“Definitely not,” Ava speaks through her laughter. Beatrice catches her gaze in the corner of her eye. “You’re gonna hear about that for a long time.”

Beatrice turns to face her. Ava’s hands fall instinctively, reaching out to the railing on either side. Ava lures Beatrice into a makeshift trap, though it was one that the nun fell into willingly. Beatrice’s heart soars again when she realizes how close they are. There’s a certain taste to Ava’s breath that makes her reminisce on their days in the Cat’s Cradle—it has the warmth of flickering candles and the smell of something sweet. The gleam in Ava’s eye engulfs her—Ava has all of the Spanish countryside to admire, but her gaze is lost in Beatrice’s features instead. They both hold their breath, and that act alone makes the world hush. 

Maybe Ava’s right, even if Beatrice can’t see it yet. Maybe a few more sunrises will help her understand. Maybe countless, if they’re both lucky.

“Okay,” Beatrice says. 

The nun reaches towards Ava’s face. Ava leans in, letting Beatrice cup her cheeks. The sun has fully risen over the hills, and it ignites all of Ava’s features. The Halo Bearer grins, and it only adds to the boundless light. In the weight of the moment, even the cold fades away. Ava gives her a quick kiss, almost as a way to encourage her. Beatrice hangs there for a moment, letting the uncertainty wash over her. It’s so quiet here, in the safety of the sunrise—it almost makes her tear up again.

Beatrice wonders how she could have care about the slightest shade of dark. When they break apart, shadows frame their skin. But it accentuates the softness in Ava’s eyes and the whirlwind of emotions that pass through them. Without the shadows, the light wouldn’t catch as well as it does now. So Beatrice smiles back, marveling at the way Ava paints the world.

“C’mon,” Ava says. She tugs on Beatrice’s sweater from between her shoulder blades. “We could both use some rest.”

Beatrice scoffs at that. “You more than me. You did throw yourself off a bridge.”

“Okay, fair point,” Ava muses. She gives Beatrice that teasing grin of hers. “But on the bright side, I’m checking skydiving off my bucket list.”

They continue to talk on their walk back, bumping shoulders all the way down. They find their excuses to stay close. Ava trips on a handful of things—roots, stray rocks, and occasionally, thin air. But Beatrice is always there to catch her with a gentle touch of her shoulder, and Ava is back on the road again. She’s fearless in Beatrice’s presence, her eyes blown wide by the forest’s many offerings. Her eyes flit across the tree line, lost in the Andalusian atmosphere. She points excitedly whenever she sees a bird, and can name more species than Beatrice expected of her. Occasionally, she’ll fall quiet and pull her blankets close, only piping up again at the sound of another song.

“Aren’t you cold?” Ava asks in one of her quieter moments. Beatrice has her arms wrapped tight around her chest, but she instinctively shakes her head. Ava scoffs, then parts the blankets around her shoulder. She extends an arm out, offering protection to the nun beside her. Beatrice pauses—there’s that part of her that shrinks away, but her heart overpowers it. She takes the blanket gratefully, nuzzling up to Ava as they walk side-by-side. They both fall quiet, entranced by the way the sunlight sifts through the trees.

In the quiet Andalusian dawn, Beatrice takes Ava’s hand.


End file.
